


Texture

by thatsmistertoyou



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Flirting, Getting Together, M/M, artist Phil, pianist Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3605157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsmistertoyou/pseuds/thatsmistertoyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt submitted to phanfic (click after reading unless you want to know exactly what happens)<br/>http://thatsmistertoyou.tumblr.com/post/80176108249/prompt-or-if-its-been-done-dan-plays-piano-at-art</p>
            </blockquote>





	Texture

**Author's Note:**

> Original A/N: When I sneeze, Phan drabbles come out. Sam knows how to flirt.

Dan wanted to be abundantly clear that he was only there because he owed a friend a favor.

It wasn’t that he thought he was too good for art or whatever - he quite liked it. And he liked museums and he liked playing the piano. But playing at an incredibly posh gallery opening, with cocktail dresses and specially tailored suits and glasses of champagne - that was not his thing. He just felt out of place.

 

His job was to sit there and look pretty and play pretty music, and that he could do. What he could not do was fit in with all of the smartly dressed rich people. He had a strong suspicion that these events were geared just to make him feel awkward, with all of the snooty small talk and finger sandwiches on triangular napkins.

At least he’d have something to do with his hands.

The gallery was relatively small, and had a lot of open spaces, which didn’t make sense to Dan. Only a few sculptures and 3D pieces graced the polished wooden floors, as everything else was hung up on the walls.

But the open space was good for Dan, because the music he played seemed to reverberate through the whole place. Marie hadn’t specified what kind of music to play, so he just went with whatever came to mind. He had brought his own sheet music as a crutch, in case playing in front of all the sophisticated art people made him nervous. But he didn’t need it, because not a living soul in the place was paying attention to him, and he was absolutely content to blend into the background.

Dan allowed the music to consume him. He focused only on the black and white beneath his fingers for a while, his fingers gliding smoothly over the polished acrylic. The sound of someone clearing their throat startled him a little, but he didn’t miss a note.

Marie smiled at him and set a glass of champagne on the piano.

“Sing us a song, piano man,” Marie quipped.

She promptly removed the drink when she saw the dirty look Dan gave her for setting it there.

“This piano is far too nice to be used as a table,” he said. “Thanks for allowing me to dick around on it.”

She laughed, taking a sip from her own glass.

“You’re here to provide  _atmosphere_ ,” she said. “And you’re welcome to take a break while the owner gives a speech in about ten minutes.”

“Okay,” he said, and he promptly transitioned into a Radiohead song.

“Thanks again for doing this, Dan. Keep up the beautiful playing.” Marie set the glass of champagne on the floor and strode away.

Dan promptly turned his attention back to the music, getting lost in it again until he heard what sounded like silverware being clinked against glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention,” he could just make out Marie’s voice. “Ms. Taylor, the lovely owner and organizer of this event, would like to welcome you.”

Dan took that as his cue, and slunk off of the bench, grabbed the champagne, and downed the whole thing in one gulp. He immediately regretted it, because he didn’t know what to do with the empty glass. Didn’t they have waiters walk around with trays to put them on at posh gatherings like this?

Too awkward to just leave it there, Dan held onto the glass as he ambled around the empty gallery, as everyone had gone to the small lobby. Marie had probably offered him the break so that he could be present at the owner’s speech, but she hadn’t specified. So he gave himself the freedom to walk around without being forced to make pseudo-intelligent conversation with the other people who happened to be looking at the same piece. As hard as he’d try to put out the  _I just want to look at visually appealing things please don’t talk to me_ aura, he had a feeling it wouldn’t work.

Dan browsed the art along the back wall of the gallery, stopping to find at least one thing he liked about each piece. Even if something wasn’t his cup of tea, he always felt guilty for turning his nose up at something that someone slaved over for hours. Said someone was also, no doubt, proud that their work had been selected to be featured in a gallery in the first place, so he could at least offer it a cursory glance.

But one piece stood out to him, and he found himself going back to it several times as he roamed around the gallery. Eventually he gave in and just planted himself in front of it, his eyes raking over the canvas, picturing every brushstroke it must have taken to create it.

The piece was one of those 3-dimensional works, in which the artist used paint not just for colour, but for texture, in a marvellous hybrid between a sculpture and a painting. Dan would be damned if there weren’t actual waves crashing over that canvas. Without thinking, he reached towards it, just to brush his fingers across it, when someone materialized beside him.

He quickly retracted his hand, feeling like a five year old who was just caught colouring on the walls, and faced his new company.

He was almost as tall as Dan, with inky black hair and a shy smile that reached his  _very_ blue eyes, which were not obscured in the slightest by his glasses. Dan smiled back, ignoring the burning sensation in his cheeks.

“You’re not meant to touch the art, but personally I think that’s a stupid rule,” the man said, offering Dan his hand. “I’m Phil.”

“Dan,” he replied, shaking Phil’s hand and facing the art once again. He was now trapped, by social convention, into small talk, but it could be worse: this dude was hot, and a beautiful conversation piece was hung on the wall before him.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Dan said, glancing back at Phil. Phil smiled.

“Certainly took a lot of paint.”

“I’ll say. I could never have the patience to create something like this.”

“I could never have the patience to learn to play piano like you do,” Phil replied, looking at Dan over the rims of his glasses. “Was that  _Pyramid Song_ you were playing before?”

“Yeah, I - uh, didn’t think anyone had noticed,” Dan said sheepishly, shoving his free hand into his pocket. Another wave of severe regret at not getting rid of the empty glass hit him, and he just set it on the floor.

“‘Course I did. You play beautifully.”

“Thanks,” Dan said, he paused, searching for something to which he could reciprocate the compliment.  _I like your eyes. I like your smile. I like the fact that you’re here while everyone else is listening to some shitty, pretentious speech._

“I like your bowtie,” was what Dan decided on. “It’s a bit wonky - ” he reached forward and straightened it without thinking. He glanced up at Phil’s face, and Dan was beginning to wonder if his resting expression was just an adorable grin.

“Thank you. Apparently you also like my art.”

Dan dropped his hands from Phil’s collar, looked to the canvas, and back at Phil before the words properly sank in.

“This is yours?” Dan finally read the box beneath the work, and sure enough, the artist’s name was Phil Lester.

“Wow.”  

It was Phil’s turn to blush, and Dan smirked at him.

“It’s really amazing. You should be proud.”

“If it was good enough to drag  _you_  over here then I’m pretty pleased with myself,” Phil said, shooting Dan a wink.

 _Allow me to please you right here on this floor,_  Dan thought. Considering he couldn’t say that out loud, however, he just nudged Phil with his elbow, blushing.

“Now you’re just stroking my ego,” Dan said, his lips curving and his dimple making an appearance.

Phil smirked like he was thinking something particularly dirty, but said nothing as the whole gallery fell silent, and the sound of footsteps and high heels clicking against the wood snapped Dan back to reality.

“I should probably go back to the piano,” he said, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Phil dug into his suit pocket and removed a pen.

“Like I said, you’re not meant to touch the art, but I can’t resist - may I?” Phil said, offering Dan his outstretched hand. Confused, Dan placed his hand in Phil’s. Phil’s skin was warm, and he gave Dan’s hand a squeeze before flipping it over. He put the point of the pen to Dan’s skin and scribbled what could only be his phone number onto Dan’s palm in a trail of wet ink.  

Phil’s ‘you’re not meant to touch the art’ flirtation finally hit him, and he flushed.

“You’re one smooth motherfucker,” Dan murmured, and Phil just grinned at him, recapping the pen and slipping it back into his pocket.

“No,” he said. “I’m an artist.”


End file.
